


Repercussions

by fuxfell



Category: Neverwinter Nights
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-13 14:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuxfell/pseuds/fuxfell
Summary: Mainly post OC, Bishop centric. Bishop's sins during the OC catch up with him. Some liberties taken with the OC storyline. I don't own any of the companions, unfortunately. Chantal is mine.





	1. Whatever it takes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally planned as a stand-alone story. But it would not leave me alone after I wrote it, and so it ended up as prologue for a rather long story.  
> This was truly the first thing I ever wrote. And it shows. I can't help but cringe when I read the first chapters now, but simply have no time to re-write them. I just can ask you to bear with it. The writing gets better as the story progresses. I promise :)

Bishop settled his shoulders against the wall, shifting a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. He'd been waiting for some time, hidden well in the shadows.  
_Shouldn't be long now._

He closed his eyes, near useless in the dark anyway, and let his mind wander. How well he remembered the first time he'd seen her, strolling into the Sunken Flagon like she had always belonged there. She and her ragtag band of demons, dwarves, elves and whatever scum she managed to pick up on the roads. The memory nearly made him smile. It wasn't a happy smile. She picked him right up with all the other scum, much against his will. He'd been travelling with her for quite a while now. Ah well, sometimes roads took quite unexpected bends, he'd come to accept that a long time ago. It even had been fun sometimes, much to his own surprise. Who'd have thought?

Still, he remembered that first time, her eyes scanning the room and everyone in it, finally resting on him for a moment. He remembered meeting those pale, pale blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a frosty winter morning. That was when he dubbed her the ice queen. The title went well with her strange, short and tousled blue-white hair, those ice-blue eyes and the bronze skin that contrasted so much with the hair and the eyes, testament to her unusual heritage. The title also went well with her character, but that he only found out some time later.

Now the smile on his face was nearly genuine. She surely was something, even he had to admit that. She was not pretty, nothing cute about her. She was a warrior woman, no mistake about that, tall, strong, and very beautiful in her own, strange way. And her tongue often was as cutting as her sword. That was one of the things he liked about her.

He remembered her talking to that retard, Duncan, and then making her way through the room, getting acquainted with everyone. He shot her his best scowl, trying to discourage her upfront, but still she came to him, unfazed, and tried chatting him up. Looking for companions for that harebrained campaign of hers. He'd sent her packing, of course, with a few well-placed scathing words. What did he look like, a Samaritan? Or like he was into small talk? She had given him one of her icy stares – okay, maybe he had been a _tad_ rude, but what had she to go and bore him with her chatter for? – showed him a haughty shoulder and sauntered away.

He'd never have admitted it, not if his life depended on it, but somehow that stare had him hooked. There was something unusual about her, and not only her obscure parentage or that idiotic mission she was on. No, he had seen a strength in her he found impressive. That one knew how to fight, and would not go down easy. And he was not thinking about sword fights, either. No matter what you threw at her, she would fight and survive. He had to admire that.

And later, after that idiot Duncan had pressed him into her service, he remembered throwing innuendo at her at every opportunity. He just could not resist, he had to see if the ice would get cracks after a while. All it had gotten him were more icy stares and some equally icy replies. And of course a few drop-dead looks from the paladin. He had to choke back laughter, thinking about that.

_No making noises now, giving away my hiding place._

That had been real fun, goading the righteous fool into equally righteous fury, rushing to the defence of the ice maiden's virtue. The stupid git had been real eager to swallow every bait Bishop had thrown him. There had been a couple of occasions Bishop had nearly worn him down, had him ready to try and kill Bishop where he stood. The ice maiden hat stopped the fool every time, with a light touch on his arm and a few soothing words murmured into his ear. Pity, really. Bishop would have loved crossing swords with him, would have loved shutting that oh-so-righteous mouth for good. And that had _nothing_ to do with the twinge he felt, remembering the ice queen and the paladin exchange knowing glances and smiles...

_Stop that. No twinge._

He was past that now. Anyway, those two deserved each other. Blanket over their bed probably was frozen every morning...

He remembered finding himself watching her more and more. Admiring the grace she moved with. Admiring the deadly accuracy she cut her enemies down with. Admiring her strength, her iron will, her determination. And asking himself again and again if there was fire under all the ice. Finding himself wanting to find out. Hating himself for wanting to find out. Observing the paladin, courting her. Politely, of course. With propriety. The fool. Polite courtship would never get him to that fire underneath. Still, it had gotten Casavir smiles, long glances, small touches and words murmured into his ears. Even the memory made Bishop's fists clench.

He remembered himself, watching the ice bitch and the paladin grow closer. Feeling the fury in himself build up. This murderous fury, screaming at him to pounce the guy, and punch that smug expression from his face. Pounce him, get him down, and drive his face into the ground, until he stopped moving.

A sharp pain brought him back to reality. He had driven his nails into his palms, drawing blood, fighting the fury that was already rising again. He forced himself to relax against the wall. That was all in the past, now.

_How long? Where_ were _they?_

His mind wandered back to the last weeks spent in her company. Fighting the growing desire. Finally having to admit to himself that he wanted her. Badly. Hating himself for it. Not understanding. He liked his women small, slender, cute. Not frosty Valkyries from hell. But there was a time he could not lie to himself any longer. Could not deny the rage that rose like bile in his throat every time he saw her smiling at the paladin. Could not deny the way his breath caught when he met those blue eyes. Could not deny the way her deep, seductive voice made his spine tingle. Could not deny the heat that rushed up in him every time she was close. Could not deny the nearly uncontrollable urge to grab her, to draw her close, to...

_Stop. Stop. Stop._

So he'd decided he'd have her. Get it done, get over it, get on. Easy as pie. Well, relatively speaking, of course. Aside from the little problem she was with Casavir. And that she hated Bishop's guts. Might have been a bit his own fault, that last one. So he changed tactics. Behaved himself. Had been polite. Helpful. Constructive. He could be that way, if he really set his mind to it. All lies, sure, but he always had been a natural when it came down to lying.

Soon he got some interested glances as well. She'd noticed the difference. Had not commented on it, had been cautious, but gradually grew a bit less frosty towards him. Eventually getting nearly friendly. Had been a hard piece of work, that, getting her to open up a bit. Still, he could be charming, if he really tried. And he had tried. With nice results. The puppy dog eyes – he had already noticed that the ladies seemed to like his eyes quite a lot – and the sob stories he told her had not hurt either. And then...

The thought brought out a wolfish grin on his face, as his memories wandered back to that night he had "accidentally" met her in the small glade outside the city. No accidents involved, clearly, since she often went there after dark, to have some time on her own. He'd known exactly he would find her there.

Still, he had acted all surprised at meeting her, and she seemed to have bought it. He _was_ a good liar. And then he'd just done it. No sense in wasting any more time. He simply walked up to her, pushed her into the next tree, grabbed her hands and pressed her into the rough bark with his body. Luckily for him she had been quite surprised, otherwise he would not have her hands so securely pinned over her head by the time her reactions kicked in.

She had fought him like a cat, hissing and spitting into his face. Tried to knee him, too, but he had been waiting for that and easily avoided it. Her eyes had shot daggers at him, her face was flushed and her chest heaving, her mouth spewing profanities.  
He had never wanted anything more in his life.

Her beauty made his blood boil and his pulse pound in his ears. He bent his head and pressed his mouth on hers, swallowing the insults she was hurling at him.

And that was the moment he really had lost it. Completely.

The feel of her lips under his made him forget everything, his mind blanked out and only the need remained. He moaned deep in his throat and kissed her like a drowning man. He did not even realise he had released her hands and started ripping off her clothes, until he felt her hands doing the same with his. He remembered letting himself fall backwards into the grass, taking her down with him, his mouth still on hers and she kissing him back like there was no tomorrow.

Here was the fire he had been so sure to find, nothing cold about her _then_. He remembered only flashes of what had happened after that, remembered her fingernails digging sharp into the skin on his back, leaving angry red welts. He remembered her strong body, bowing to meet his thrusts. He remembered her teeth in his shoulder. He remembered their mouths desperately seeking each other. He remembered her moans and cries, mingling with his own. Remembered her hot breath in his ear. And he remembered her shouting his name, shortly before he collapsed on her, totally spent. Did he shout her name? He was not sure. But he remembered the pure bliss he felt.

Until she got up and started frantically digging for what was left of her clothes. Put a bit of a damper on his euphoria, that. That, and the look of pure horror she shot him before she bolted into the night.

As he sat up, the bliss gave way to a sudden pain in his guts, like someone twisted a knife in there. And there was a sting in his eyes he angrily rubbed away. What the…? He did not do tears. And he never, ever felt hurt. He was the one hurting others, made damn sure that was the way everything turned out. He never left himself open, never. Anyway, it was done now, wasn't it? He'd had her, had melted the ice and made her cry out his name. Mission accomplished. Time to move on. Pastures new and all that.

The following days she did not talk to him, did not look at him and flinched every time he came near her. Sticking to the plan, he made no move to change that. He was over her now, right? Had gotten her out of his system. No sense in trying to impress her any more. So he kept to himself, barely talking to anyone, which was fine by him. They were all a bunch of retards anyway. He did not need them, did not need her, did not need anybody. Soon he would be gone, getting them out of his life at last. He could not wait for that time to come…

But somehow, his reserve seemed to sit well with her, even if that was the last thing he intended. After some days, he sometimes found her staring at him, when she thought no one would notice. Especially that stupid paladin. Well, the idiot would not have noticed if his own head left him. Every time Bishop caught her staring, she looked away swiftly.  
But then she started seeking his proximity, started finding excuses for touching him. Small, seemingly innocent touches, a short touch on his arm, or her hand just barely grazing his. And she would not look away anymore, when his gaze met hers. An in her eyes, he could see something that ignited a fire in his body… something he could only describe as hunger.

If he had not been so busy swallowing the heat welling up in him, he would have smirked at her. Something the good and righteous paladin was not giving her, was there? He knew that fool did not have what it took. Could have told her, had she asked him. Did she realize herself, at last?

He remembered getting up, slowly, hesitatingly walking over to her, his gaze never leaving hers. He had stopped, a couple of feet away from her, still staring into her eyes. And there had been something new to see, he'd been so sure. A glow, a warmth, an… invitation?

Then she smiled at him, sweet and genuine, and he could feel something rising in his chest, something strange. What was that feeling? Was that… hope? It was warm, and fuzzy, and he could feel a stupid, broad, happy grin appearing on his face, and for a moment there, he really felt like maybe, just maybe, some things _could_ change in the end.

Gods, he must have been braindead.  
Then, just as his hand lifted itself out of its own accord, wanting to touch her face, the paladin appeared behind her, shooting Bishop a withering glance, took her by the shoulders and whispered something into her ear. And she had glanced up at Casavir, smiled at him, too, gave Bishop a last look over her shoulder, and went away with the paladin.

Bishop just stood there, staring after her, that warm, fuzzy feeling gradually giving way to searing, hot rage. What had he been thinking? How could he have been so damn _stupid?_ Letting his guard down like this? He'd sworn to himself never to let that happen again, never to feel that unbearable pain again. And here he was, feeling like his world just had caved in.

He turned on the spot, running into the woods, hurtling himself through the undergrowth, not feeling or caring the way the branches snapped his clothes and whipped into his face. At least the sting on his cheeks explained the water welling up in his eyes.

At last, panting and out of breath, he had to stop. He stood there, hands pressed to his stomach, feeling it clench with pain, threw back his head and screamed with incoherent rage. Screamed and screamed until his voice gave out. After, he let himself sink to the ground, lying down on his back and staring up into the leafy canopy of the trees and the glimpses of blue sky shimmering through.

It was then he knew he had to end this. Once and for all.

Stupid bitch had it coming, hadn't she? Should have known he was not one to play games with. Revenge would be sweet. He'd burned down his whole village for revenge, watched the people he grew up with die in the flames. After that, most things were easy.

As would be paying her back in kind for doing this to him. For getting under his defences so effortlessly. For making him vulnerable and then sticking a knife into his gut.

_We'll see about that, won't we,_ he'd thought grimly. _I'll show you what it feels like._

And he'd done it, betrayed her, left her keep open for invasion while he slipped away into the night. She'd survived, obviously – and here he was, waiting for her…

_Footfalls. At last._

He waited a bit longer, until he could hear their voices and see the light of their torches behind the bend.

_Took you a good while, getting here._

And then she appeared at the corner, her blue-white hair glinting in the torchlight. She really was beautiful. He felt his breath catch in his throat. Maybe…

_No. Stop. Never again._

He waited for her to take a few steps more, then she suddenly stopped and stared intently into the darkness ahead of her, obviously alarmed. He had to smile. She always _did_ have keen senses. He pushed himself away from the wall, stepping into the torchlight.

Oh, her face when she realized it was him.

"Bishop?" Unbelieving. Taking a step further to him, staring into his face. What was it he saw there? Relief? And… hope? "You came back?" A smile now, genuine smile.

She really was glad to see him, the stupid cow. He forced an answering smile on his face, taking the last few steps that separated him from her, stopping mere inches away. Looked into her eyes, still smiling, while he drove the dagger he'd been hiding so well into her gut, taking care that her body shielded the motion from the others coming round the bend.

_See what it feels like, bitch?_

She made a little choking noise, staggering and clutching the only thing there was to hold on to. Which were his shoulders. Her face now directly before his eyes, a rapid succession of emotions showed in those frosty eyes of hers. Surprise, disbelieve, shock – and eventually hurt, pain, betrayal… and something else. Was that hope?

Staring into his eyes, panting slightly from the pain, but not moving, not screaming, just staring at him, waiting. Waiting for what? For him to say something, to do something, to make it all right again?

Just showed how stupid she was, really.

Because nothing would ever make right again what he had just done. Which was exactly why he had done it, of course. No going back from this point.

_Whatever it takes to set me free._

He stared into her face, so close to his, her lips parted in surprise, and could not help himself. He bent his head, pressing his lips on hers, kissing her desperately, as if it was the last thing he'd ever do. Which it was, actually, at least with her. Because soon, she would be dead.

Amazingly, he felt her responding, returning his kiss just as desperately, her eyes closed and a single tear rolling down her cheek. The dagger still in her belly, Bishop's hand still on the handle, she kissed him back.

_No. Nonononono._

He tore his mouth from hers, his gaze falling on her companions, not one realizing what was happening in front of their eyes, seeing the paladin stare unbelieving at the ice queen, lying in Bishop's arms. Bishop gave him a short smirk.

_How do you like it, Buddy?_

Then he let his eyes fall on her face again, hope still very visible there. She whispered his name, so low even he could barely hear it.

Enough. He'd had his fun, time to move on.

He tightened his grip on the dagger, twisting it viciously in her gut and sliced her open with one fluid motion. Watched her eyes grow even larger, still no sound escaping her, while she sagged to the ground, bleeding freely now, still looking up at him. Shouts from her friends, who were starting to realize something was very, very wrong.

Time to take his leave.

He gave her one last glance, her face pallid now under the bronze hue of her skin. Oh yeah, he'd done her well. Then, he turned and ran into the tunnels ahead. He had taken his time exploring them, knowing every bend by now. They'd never catch up with him. Plus, they would take some time checking out the ice queen first.

He felt something stir in his chest, thinking of the look on her face, but clamped down hard on the feeling. No remorse, no looking back. Story of his life.

_Whatever it takes._


	2. Thrown to the Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That was to be my second stand-alone - same story, but different POV, because I just had to explore that angle, too. Hope it's still interesting to read :)_
> 
> _The writing is still wonky, but bear with me, it’s about to get better…_

Chantal moved carefully through the dark corridors, her senses scanning ahead, trying to shut out the noises of her companions behind her, the muffled shuffling of feet and the small clanging sounds from Casavir's armour. She sighed involuntary. Sweet, caring Casavir. He had deserved better than the trick she played him. Not that she had intended to. How had it all happened?

_Yes, how?_

Her heart growing even more heavy, her thoughts went back to that moment so many weeks ago, when she first arrived at the Sunken Flagon, to meet Duncan and see what he could tell her about the shards. She had entered the inn, sizing up everyone in the room, trying to guess which one could be Duncan. It had not been so difficult to find out, really. There was only one Half-Elf in the room, so that had to be Daeghun's half-brother. Her "uncle" Duncan.

Thinking of him made a small smile appear on her face, despite the pain in her heart.

She had gone to talk to him, liking him instantly. Perhaps even because of the warnings Daeghun had given her that Duncan was not entirely to be trusted. Maybe it was a bit of spite in her, being thankful to Daeghun for taking her in and raising her, but not really being able to forgive him the cold and unemotional way he had done it.

Sometimes one of the villagers hinted that Daeghun had not always been that way, not before the death of his wife, somehow linked to the death of Chantal's own mother, but no one ever wanted to tell her _how_ that happened. But whatever had happened, if he decided to raise her, could he not do it with at least showing a _thread_ of affection? So if Daeghun told her not to trust Duncan, she had been determined to like the guy.

Luckily it was not difficult; Duncan had won her instantly by being appalled at his half-brother for not telling Chantal anything about her past. What had he said? _You would have been better off being raised by wolves…_ Chantal shook her head, still smiling.

Besides, Duncan was quick-witted, sharp-tongued and quite funny, so it had not been difficult to like him, even if he smelled like a beer keg.

After talking to Duncan and discussing how to go on from here, she had wandered through the room a bit, trying to get to know the people there. This was Duncan's home, and hers, for now. So the least she could do was be polite to Duncan's friends and customers, in thanks for taking her in. Plus, she _was_ a bard, and that was what bards did, talking to people. Well, at least she had been a bard until she had decided to pursue that _other_ part of her garbled heritage. She'd never seen her family tree, but she'd hold a fair wager it would be quite interesting to read.

Then she came up to the tall stranger she had seen shortly while searching for Duncan, standing in a shadowy corner and apparently talking to no one. He gave her a scowl and a dark look, daring her to try and talk to him. She had smiled a bit inwardly, sizing him up.

There was something sinister about him, something dark and forbidding. His very short reddish-brown hair stuck up every which way from his head, his badly shaven beard throwing a shadow on his jaw, but what was most noticeable about him were those strange eyes. He had amber eyes, which regarded her with a cold and contemptuous stare. They reminded her more of a wolf than of a human, and they showed as much emotion as well.

Actually, after she had met his pet wolf much later, she had to admit that the eyes of the wolf often showed more warmth than those of his master.

Well, it took a lot more to throw her off than a mean stare, so she sauntered up to him anyway and tried to get him to talk to her.

Gods, he'd been _rude_. She remembered staring at him for a split second, fighting the impulse to punch him in the face for what he had just said to her. Could have done it, too. Courtesy of that few drops of dragon blood flowing through her veins, most people she punched _stayed_ punched.

On the other hand, maybe not – he was not as muscular as, say, Casavir, not by far, but he was wiry and pretty quick, so he might have dodged her blow. Anyway, she had decided not to do it. It would have been poor thanks to Duncan if she started a brawl in his tavern. So she shrugged and moved away, and ignored him from that moment on.

Until Duncan had had the brilliant idea of blackmailing Bishop into helping her out. There had been a heated discussion about that; she did not _want_ that creep travelling with her. You had to be able to trust your companions with your life, and Bishop could not be trusted. Hells, had Duncan himself not told her so countless times?

Not that she was not able to see that on her own, everyone with half a brain could see it. Bishop radiated hate, anger and contempt; one could feel it standing on the other side of the room. Not the person she wanted guarding her back. And what did she need him for, when she had Casavir, Khelgar, Elanee, even Neeshka by her side?

But Duncan insisted, and she caved in the end. She had to admit none of them was a tracker, and since time was of the essence, someone with good tracking skills might save Shandra's life. She could not have lived with herself had Shandra died, just because she was being coy about having Bishop around. If it had not been for her, Shandra would not have been abducted, wouldn't she?

So, having to put up with Bishop was a small price to pay for Shandra's safety. _If_ he could be persuaded not to kill them all in their sleep. Chantal had there and then decided to have double guards at night. The thought of leaving Bishop unobserved made her uneasy.

_And how prophetic has that proved to be?_

Chantal sighed again, thinking of these first days, travelling with Bishop. Much to her surprise, he had behaved himself quite well. Well, bad choice of words. His _behaviour_ had been unbearably obnoxious, arrogant and just plain infuriating. But at least he had not tried anything funny, and had led them surprisingly swift to Shandra. He had even proved himself to be handy to have around in a battle. That somehow made up for the lewd comments, the brazen ogling of every female in the group, and the impertinent smirks.

She knew what he was doing, that he was trying to get under her skin and make her lose her temper. That seemed to be his favourite pastime, unfortunately. But she was determined not to give him the satisfaction of getting to her, so all she gave him were some cold stares and silences. Mostly, she just ignored him.

Casavir on the other hand seemed to have a harder time to put up with the obnoxious ranger. He had grown very protective of her, ready to throw himself to the wolves in her defence, so to speak. There had been a couple of times when she thought the paladin's patience would snap and he would try to kill Bishop. Luckily, she managed to calm him down every time, giving him a sweet smile to show him she appreciated his help, but also whispering to him not to fall for Bishop's baits.

Casavir had managed to reign in his fury. Chantal sighed for the third time in as many minutes. That seemed to be what being a paladin was all about, reigning in their emotions, somehow. Such a pity… things might have turned out different, had that not been the case. Maybe, if Casavir had not been that reserved, she would never have…

_No, don't think about it._

Casavir had been so tender, so cautious, so… formal, sometimes. He had taken a long time, admitting to her that he cared for her, even though she had known all along. There was this look in his very blue eyes, when he regarded her. It made her want to just reach out and kiss him. But she hadn't, knowing that he would not approve. That he had to come to terms with his emotions, first. So she tried to give him all the encouragement she could, all the smiles and small touches she could get away with, without driving him into retreat.

The bonus was that somehow Bishop did not seem to like it. Sometimes, when she looked his way while talking to Casavir, she caught him staring, jaw clenched and anger burning in those cold amber eyes. She had to control herself not to laugh, then. Payback really was sweet. Besides, what was he thinking? That his – admittedly – good looks gave him the right to the attentions of every woman in sight? Well, he was wrong about that.

_Oh, really?_

Shoving the last thought away rigorously, she forced her thoughts to return to Casavir. His reserve had driven her mad sometimes. He seemed to think that she was some delicate flower, something fragile he had to handle with painstaking care. She was anything but, and sometimes she wished he would just get over it and let himself go already.

But he was always the gentleman, wasn't he? Even after they… well, he insisted on calling her "my lady". She had a perfectly good name, but the thought of using it seemed inconceivable to Casavir. And he continued to be tender, and gentle, and caring. It was sweet, in a way, but…

Anyway, after returning safely to the Sunken Flagon, with Shandra in tow, Bishop suddenly decided to stay. She still was not sure why he had done it. Certainly not out of the goodness of his heart, with Bishop, there was always some ulterior motive.

She had tried to find out, to talk to him about it, but all it had gotten her was some lewd offer to run off with her into the woods. She had to laugh in his face, could not help it. Was that some kind of joke? Probably just a tactical maneuver to throw her off the track. His face stayed impassive, but something showed in his eyes, some glint… was he angry? Dumb question, Bishop was always angry.

_Well, actually…_

Chantal stopped that thought, too, but could not keep her mind from wandering back to the past.

She accepted him into their small group. She did not like him, but she had to admit that his skills were decidedly useful. And after a while, he even became more tolerable. He had probably just needed some time to get used to them all. He stopped ogling the girls, and he stopped making those awfully salacious comments. He even stopped leering. And he started to participate in their discussions, in their planning, and for the first time Chantal realized that he had actually quite a good brain in that thick skull of his. She really came to appreciate his opinions and his advice.

And there seemed to be something different in the way he behaved towards her. She caught him looking at her quite often, and it was not the cold, contemptuous stare she was used to. She thought she saw something soft in his eyes, something unexpected. He even talked to her from time to time, telling her about his youth and the way he had been pressed into Luskan service.

She nearly came to like his company, talking to him and observing his face while he stared at the ground, finding it difficult to talk about his past. There was something vulnerable about his mouth, and she wondered why she had never seen that before. Very likely because mostly, when you looked into his face, you only saw these strange eyes, and there was nothing vulnerable there. They were clearly the eyes of a predator.

But his mouth… it was tender, and sad somehow, and she found herself wondering how these soft lips might feel touching hers.

She had shoved that thought down as soon as it appeared. That was no way of thinking about Bishop. Besides, she had Casavir.

Yet, sometimes, when Bishop suddenly looked up and met her eyes, the look in his was very different from his usual impassive stare. He looked… hurt, and lonely, and she found herself wanting to reach out for him. She did not do it, of course. He probably would have bitten her hand off for noticing what he plainly regarded as weakness.

_Fall for his tricks, that's what you did._

Casavir, as could be expected, did not like her getting better acquainted with Bishop and continued to warn her not to trust the ranger. But that was no wonder, the two men were as different as they could be, and neither of them would ever understand the other. Or even try to. That seemed to be about the only thing they had in common, the way they were stuck in their prejudices.

_Only Casavir had been right all along._

Then… she blushed, thankful that the others were all behind her and could not see the colour in her cheeks. She swallowed and tried to stop the way her mind was wandering.

_You swore yourself never to think about that again!_

But the images kept coming, images of the night he had turned up in the glade. She had made it a habit, escaping there most evenings, to get away from Kana and the incessant demands holding the keep made on her. She needed some time to be alone, to think, and to relax, without someone barging in on her with one request or the other. It seemed like she could never get a minute alone, as long as she stayed in the keep.

So she came here… and this evening, after some time, she heard a rustling noise behind her, and turned round, alarmed – only to find herself face to face with Bishop. Her heart made a strange flip in her chest, because of the fright he had given her, she told herself.

He looked at her, seemingly surprised himself, and apologized for disturbing her. He seemed sincere, still she did not really believe him. He had to have known she would be here, since she was not in the keep. Where else would she go? So he must have had a reason to show up. Was he looking for her?

Her heart did another flip at the thought, and she was distracted for a moment and too slow in her reactions, when suddenly a strange light showed in his eyes, and with one swift movement he grabbed her wrists and shoved her roughly into the tree behind her, her hands pinned above her head and his body pressing into hers.

She cried out, shocked, and tried to fight him, but he was surprisingly strong and his hands held her wrists in an iron grip. She tried bringing her knee up, but he caught her thigh between his and pressed himself even more against her… and now she could feel him and gods, he was _hard_.

She felt something clench, low in her body, and heat rose up in her. But she forced herself to keep struggling, because this was _wrong_ , and how could she react that way, if she had Casavir?

She fought with all her strength, and hurled every insult she had learned from her inventive harborman friends at him, but it seemed not to have the slightest effect on him. His eyes were alight with amber flames, and the heat in them nearly made her knees buckle.

Gods, what was wrong with her? How could she feel that way while he brutally forced himself upon her? This was madness, she could not _want_ to be treated like this!

Then his mouth closed over hers, cutting of the incessant stream of insults she had thrown his way. His tongue found hers, and then he made that noise… that low moan, deep down in his throat, so full of wanting, full of _need_ … and that ball of heat exploded in her, and she could not think anymore, swept away by something she had never felt before, naked, unmitigated desire.

Her hands were free now, because his were busy ripping off her clothes, but the only thing they seemed to do was getting rid of his clothes, too. She could think of nothing but getting to feel his skin on hers, licking and sucking and drawing in his scent, this intoxicating smell of earth and leaves and musk that seemed to go straight to her head and make it swim.

She found herself drawn forwards, when he let himself fall back into the grass, and she landed on his chest, clinging to him and still caught in that wild, passionate kiss. More of those needy little noises escaped him, and gods, how she _wanted_ him.

He flipped her on her back, his mouth never leaving hers, and roughly shoved himself into her. She cried out, her fingers digging into his back, her teeth sinking into his shoulder to stifle her cries while he started pounding into her. There was no finesse, no playfulness. This was no love-making, this was wild and untamed and rough, just like the man himself. And she wanted _more._

Eventually, her body spasmed and clenched and she cried out Bishop's name. He let out an answering roar, head thrown back, sounding more animal than man, before collapsing on her, gasping for breath, still holding her tightly in his arms, like he never wanted to let go.

She had to fight for breath herself, and her heart only gradually stopped hammering in her chest. She breathed in his scent – gods, he smelled so _good_ – and closed her eyes, just savouring his closeness. Who would have thought it could be like this? How very different that had been from the soft, tender way Casavir made love to her…

Oh Gods. Oh Gods. _Casavir_. What had she done? How could she do this to him? How could she have done this at all, completely losing any control, rutting like an animal on the ground in the woods with _Bishop_ , of all persons? Was she this sick and twisted?

Panic welled up in her, as Bishop gave a contented little sigh and lifted his head, looking down on her. There was a slight smile on his face, and his eyes were warm and… no, no, she could not stand this, could not think about this, had to get away, had to get some air, had to _breathe_ …

She averted her eyes, starting to twist and turn and wiggle herself out from under him, collected what little was left and still useful of her clothes and fled into the night, with one last, panicked glance back at Bishop, still on the ground, watching her with an expression on his face she forced herself not to think about.

_And you would have stayed with the not thinking about Bishop, if you had any sense._

It had been difficult, sneaking into the keep without anyone seeing her, but she managed, which was a very good thing for her dignity. She could never have explained her dishevelled looks, her clothes in shreds and her hair a mess, with leaves and little twigs everywhere.

Most of all, she did not want to meet Casavir. She really had some serious thinking to do.

In the following weeks, she withdrew completely, even from Casavir. _Especially_ from Casavir. She could not be with him, not before she came to terms with what had happened at the glade. Casavir of course was sorrowed, but did not press her.

Much to her surprise, Bishop did not, either. She had not thought him capable of so much consideration. He seemed quite withdrawn, himself, not talking much to anyone. He did not tell Casavir what had happened, either, for which she was immensely thankful. It probably had cost him something, letting the opportunity to really hurt the paladin pass. She began to think that maybe she had been completely wrong about him, that maybe he was not as bad as his reputation.

_Not very bright, were you?_

More and more, she found her eyes drawn to him, to his messy hair, the perpetual stubble on his chin, those beautiful wolf eyes, and most of all, that tender mouth. Remembering the feel of his lips, the passion in his kiss, sent a shiver down her spine.

She tried to repress the feeling, tried to force her thoughts to return to Casavir, but it did not work. She even kept dreaming about that night in the glade, waking up out of breath and her heart beating fast. She had to admit Bishop had awoken something in her, something she had not known was there, and now she wanted more. Wanted Bishop.

The realisation left her horrified, thinking she must be going mad. But the feeling wouldn't go away, no matter how much she tried to quash it.

_Should have tried harder._

One thing was clear, she had to tell Casavir. He deserved honesty, at least. She liked him, very much, and she respected him, and she felt safe with him, but she did not want him, need him, the way she seemed to want and need Bishop.

How did that happen? She hated the man, he was a pain in the ass… only he wasn't really, was he? Underneath the obnoxious behaviour and layers of spite and hate and anger was something vulnerable, and lonely, and needy…

_That's what he tried to make you think._

But she was so sure that she had seen it in his eyes, that moment, weeks after the _incident,_ when she had stood at the edge of their camp, lost in thoughts about Bishop again, involuntarily looking for him among her companions, and finding him looking back at her.

The was a strange expression on his face, he looked… shy? Bishop, shy? Yet, that was what he looked like, and she could not look away, even though she feared what he might read in her eyes.

There must have been something to see, because he got up and stalked over to her, in his graceful way, his eyes never leaving hers. He stopped at arm’s length, and the expression on his face made her heart beat faster. He looked so absurdly hopeful, his emotions as open and unguarded on his face like she had never seen before. She felt a wave of tenderness welling up in her, and she had to smile at him. In this moment, she thought she could love that man standing before her, that other Bishop he kept hidden so well.

Something of it must have shown in her eyes, because a bright, happy grin appeared on his face, an expression she had not even thought him capable of. There was a light in his eyes that made her breath stop. That big grin on his face made him look so much younger, he looked like a boy, happy and carefree and gods, she really did want him.

Just as he made a small movement towards her, she felt hands on her shoulders and Casavir's voice murmuring into her ears, requesting a moment of her time. She could have wept with frustration, but she forced herself to smile at Casavir and nod. He at least deserved this, she would tell him the truth, and then she could return to Bishop, see what they could work out.

She turned to follow Casavir, throwing Bishop an apologetic glance. His face had turned thunderous, the smile wiped away. She sighed, but she had to do this, get clean with Casavir, and then return and talk to Bishop later.

The talk with Casavir had not been fun, but that was to be expected. It was all made so much worse by him being so gentle and understanding and not angry with her at all. He actually had been worried about her, warned her to be careful, feared that Bishop might hurt her… it made her feel like the worst harpy in the world, hurting such a good man.

_Well, you've paid the bill._

After talking to Casavir, she hurried back to Bishop. Only, Bishop was gone.

She remembered an uneasy feeling creeping into her stomach as she wildly looked around, searching for him. Then Neeshka had just wordlessly pointed into the woods. Had she been this obvious? But Neeshka had not grown so good at what she did by not noticing what went on before her eyes. Hopefully not all her companions were so observant.

That nagging feeling in her stomach grew while she waited for him. Where had he gone? Why? Surely he could not have thought… But he could, couldn't he? It would be exactly what someone like Bishop would think. What he would _expect_. But she could put that right, could explain to him when he returned…

He didn't return. Not that night, not the following day. She felt hollow, empty, finding it hard to concentrate on the task, trying not to let the others see how she felt. But she could feel Casavir's pitying glance on her, so she had to avoid his eyes. She and her companions returned to the keep. And that night, Bishop had betrayed her.

_Well, you should have seen that coming, seeing how everyone told you so._

He had slipped back into the keep, only to leave it open for the invasion of her enemies. It could only have been him; her guards told her later that he had returned, but when the enemy attacked, he was long gone again.

They fought, and they survived, and they got on with the mission, because that was what they were here for. Still, her heart was heavy, and somehow did not believe her when she told it over and over she should be glad that she had gotten rid of him without him doing even more damage.

And now, she was trudging along these gloomy corridors, which went so well with her mood, still feeling guilty about Casavir, faithfully following her after all she had done to him, and still longing for Bishop, after all he had done to her. She tried to hate him, but somehow she could not. Did he plan to betray her to the enemy from the start? Probably. It was just the kind of man he was.

_And still you pine for him. You really are sick. Get a grip._

She came round a bend and something tingled in the back of her brain. She stopped and stared ahead into the darkness, where nothing moved and no sound was to be heard. But she knew that the shadows were not empty, that something was waiting for her in the dark…

Suddenly, there was movement and a tall figure stepped into the torchlight. Mahogany hair shimmered, and amber eyes were fixed on her face. Her heart did a double flip – traitorous organ – and she stared at him, not trusting her eyes. Without wanting to, she took a step toward him.

"Bishop?", she asked, trying to stop her voice from shaking, trying to sound cool. "You came back?"

Oh, who was she kidding? Seeing him made her breath catch, and she felt anything but cool. She felt… hopeful? Yes, this was definitely hope, creeping up in her, unwanted, but inexorable. Maybe he could explain, maybe it had been a misunderstanding…

_Maybe you just don't care._

She silenced that thought, and could not help but smile at Bishop, and gods, she _was_ glad to see him. If he came back, she could even forgive him what he'd done.

She saw an answering smile appear on his face, and he stepped nearer. Something seemed not quite right with that smile… and just as she thought that, she felt a sharp pain in her gut.

Looking down, she saw a dagger protruding from her belly, Bishop's hand still on the handle.

She stared at him, unbelieving, staggered and had to catch herself on his shoulders, his face so near now, his eyes, cold and hard and full of hate again, the light gone, and still she could not believe that he could do this, that he could murder her in cold blood, while looking into her face.

_Better believe it._

She could not speak, there seemed to be no breath left in her lungs, and she kept staring at him, that stupid hope still in her that he would somehow make it right, somehow take it back, somehow turn back the time. She knew it was not possible, not anymore, but that hope still did not want to die. She looked at him, wordlessly pleading with him.

He stared back, something flickering in his eyes, and then he pressed his mouth on hers, angrily, desperately kissing her, and despite of everything he'd done she felt the heat again, she _still_ wanted him, and she closed her eyes and kissed him back, holding on to his shoulders, still hoping…

…when she felt his lips leave hers, and opened her eyes, to find him sneer over her shoulder at the others, who had not seen what really happened, could not see, because the dagger was hidden between her and Bishop.

Then he looked down at her again, arrogant and contemptuous like the first time she met him. She could not stop pleading to him with her eyes, managing to whisper his name, at last, begging him to stop this madness.

But she saw resolution harden in his face. He twisted the dagger and ripped it up the length of her belly, and the pain was nothing compared to that in her heart.

She fell to the ground, her vision starting to get dim, the shouts of the others seemingly far away, and still she could only stare up at him, knowing that this was the end. Her end, she thought distantly, but it did not seem to matter.

He looked down at her with his wolf eyes for a moment, his face expressionless, then he turned and fled into the darkness.

She felt her life slipping away, killed by the man she thought she could love, but she could not bring herself to care.

_This is your own fault. You knew what he was. And still you threw yourself to the wolves._

And they had torn her throat out.


End file.
